Not an Ordinary Mycroft
by BirdsLoveToRead
Summary: Mycroft Holmes was not ordinary, in any definition of the word. Or was he? Follow the story of Stella, who somehow managed to melt the Iceman. AU eventual MCxOC and Johnlock Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock! No money-making here.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the story about Mycroft and Stella (my OC). Not sure how often I'll be able to update, but I'll try to keep it to at least once every two weeks and not just disappear. Enjoy!**

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Mycroft Holmes was not an ordinary boy. Ordinary ten year olds read comic books, ran around outside, and biked with their friends. Ordinary boys didn't have to keep their younger brother from blowing up room sin the name of science. And ordinary boys certainly didn't sit under apple trees reading Machiavelli. But there he was, reading _The Prince_. Or at least he was, until a faint giggling reached his ears.

"Sherlock, come down from that tree right now!" he yelled and pointed to the ground angrily. More giggling, and now some rustling, but no wild-haired youth dropped down. "If you don't come down, I'm going to tell Mommy and she'll get the gardener to get you down again!" At this, a head poked out from between some branches and then the body follow, hanging upside down from a thick limb.

"Hello there. I'm afraid I'm not Sherlock. My name's Stella. What's yours?" Stella grinned down at Mycroft, who was blatantly staring silently. "Hello? Oh, are you deaf?" She began doing strange gestures with her hands, but stopped upon seeing his look of bewilderment. "Oh, not deaf then."

"Of course I'm not deaf. I was yelling earlier, and I heard your giggling. What are you doing on my property?" Mycroft puffed out his chest and tried to look commanding, like his father. Stella merely giggled again.

"I was just climbing. You wanna come up? Its a really nice view up here." She let out a laugh and swung back and forth, still upside down.

"Stop it, you'll get hurt! And no, I don't want to climb a stupid tree. Now get off my property or I'll call security and they'll drag you out of there!" Mycroft stomped his foot and left in an agitated huff. Stella's smile drooped and she climbed back away with a sigh. _Why doesn't anyone ever want to play? And he never even gave me his name..._

Mycroft snuck carefully back into the house, avoiding the annoying housekeeper. As he rounded the final corner before his bedroom he thought, _Last time I ever do what she says. I can't read outside. Apparently, tree-climbing ape girls invade if I try. _He tried to forget her carefree grin and sparking green eyes, focusing only on her tangle of jet-black hair and the dirt on her button-like nose. _She's practically a savage._ Mycroft ignored the sad little part of his mind that reminded him that she, at least, was having fun.

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**Please read and review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft stood quietly as the tailor made the finishing touches on his tuxedo. Sherlock, on the other hand, was being restrained by several maids as his tailor fitted a sleeve. Mummy had insisted on new outfits for the boys to wear at her Spring Gala. Father, the all-powerful Siger Holmes, would be attending as well, so Mycroft hoped Sherlock would at least attempt to behave himself. Probably not going to happen though, so it was up to Mycroft to be the most perfect son possible.

"I'm surprised you have time to do mine," Sherlock sneered to the tailor, "I thought I'd need two people to get around Mycroft's enormous gut." Mycroft flushed and Sherlock grinned triumphantly, until the tailor gave him a sharp swat on the head.

"Don't be rude Sherlock. Show some respect for your brother. He's done a lot for you," chastised the tailor. Sherlock laughed,

"The only thing Mycroft has done for me is eat all my cake." Mycroft's fists clenched at his sides. Only his manners and the thought of Mummy's scolding kept him from launching himself at his twat of a brother. He chuckled under his breath as Sherlock was "accidentally" given a wedgie by his tailor. The tailor winked at Mycroft before tending to his brother. Mycroft's tailor started adjusting the waist of his trousers, and Mycroft nervously pulled his stomach in. His tailor rose to whisper gently,

"Mycroft, you look fine. You'll just ruin the measurements. Relax, boy. You'll have plenty of time to worry about your figure when you're older." He chuckled and bent down to resume work. Mycroft let out a shaky breath & relaxed slightly.

"This better be an amazing party, not one of Mummy's usual blahs," proclaimed Sherlock.

'_Too right you are, little brother_,' thought Mycroft.

The door banged open and a slim woman strolled in. Her appearance gave no hints to her age or her status as a mother of two, and neither did her attitude. "Hello my little ones. How's my darling boy?" She strode over to Sherlock & began fussing, without so much as a glance at Mycroft. He stood proudly & hoped she would soon shower him with the same affection she was drowning Sherlock in.

Alas, no such luck. Mummy gave him a sharp nod & then bustled out, chattering to the butler about decorations.

Then Sherlock, who was done, jumped down & pelted out the door. Mycroft followed at a more leisurely pace after thanking the amused tailors. He saw Sherlock clinging to the bannister as he eavesdropped on Mummy. She was gesturing wildly as she directed the decorators. Judging by the size of the boxes, this party was going to be one of the most extravagant yet. Sherlock grinned up at Mycroft, who hid his weariness behind a blank expression. The parties stopped being fun for him as soon as Mummy decided it wasn't too early to dabble in his love life. Every party, she insisted that he dance with every girl his age. It was embarrassing at times, as the girls peered around him to eye another boy. But he couldn't disappoint Mummy, so he put on a smile and danced. And danced. And danced.

Mycroft turned and went to his room. He picked up The Prince again, but had no interest in it at the moment. He went and gazed out the window, subconsciously scanning the trees for any rustling or a flash of black hair. But the sun beat down on an entirely empty backyard. Instead, he heard a crash from behind him and Mummy's shout soon followed. He ran to the bannister and looked at Sherlock sprawled on the ground, surrounded by an array of lights that were previously hanging. Mummy was fretting over him, but he looked much too smug to be in any pain. Mummy looked up and saw his uninterested gaze.

"Mycroft Holmes, you were supposed to be watching him! What if he'd gotten hurt? And right before the party too!" she shrieked. "Get down here and go outside with him. On the ground this time." He shuffled obediently down the steps, head bowed, and dragged a protesting Sherlock outside. He sighed internally and tried to ignore the sting that always followed his mother's raging. _Of course its my fault. Sherlock was behaving perfectly fine, as usual._

"What were you even doing?" he asked as they walked. "I thought you were looking forward to the party, not attempting to destroy it."

"I was curious as to how much I could shift the lights before the wire coiled too much for the electricity to pass through it. The stupid lights fell before I could finish testing," grumbled Sherlock.

"You shouldn't have been experimenting at all. You could have really injured yourself and ruined the party. Mummy would have cried for weeks." Sherlock simply sniffed in reply. He wrenched his arm out of Mycroft's grip and jumped, clothes and all, into the pool. Mycroft restrained the urge to roll his eyes and called for a servant to bring some towels and a fresh change of clothes. Sherlock started diving around looking at light reflections, and Mycroft realized that he'd forgotten his book. Two servants delivered the necessities and he politely asked them if they would fetch his book. They did, and also brought along a tray of freshly baked custard tarts. His mouth watered as he reached for one. He bit into one and the custard exploded into his mouth. He settled down near the tray with his book and ate as he read.

About ten minutes and 150 pages later, his hand met only tray. He looked up and saw that he'd accidentally eaten seven custard tarts, and there were none left for Sherlock. He blushed bright red and hurriedly hid the tray behind a nearby shrub, praying that Sherlock hadn't noticed them being brought over. If he had, he'd tattle to Mummy and together they'd never let him forget it. '_Just one next time_,' he thought, gazing down at his protruding stomach with a frown. '_Sherlock's right. I need to lose some weight._'

At that moment, Sherlock bounded over and grabbed a towel. Without a word, he stripped, threw his soaked clothes at Mycroft's head, changed, and ran off to another part of the yard. He didn't notice Mycroft's sigh of relief, nor his dejected expression as he continued to read. Nobody ever did.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The two songs mentioned are:**

**Ellipse, from the soundtrack of the game Sid Meier's Civilization V**

**Careless Whisper, by George Michael.**

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Mycroft could hear faint notes creeping into his room from the party downstairs as he expertly adjusted his tie. He smoothed out the minuscule creases on his jacket and frowned at the mirror. His tuxedo was fitted expertly, but as he turned to the side, he could see the slight curve of his waist as it bulged outward. He sighed quietly and left his room, trying to shove his feelings to the back of his mind. Before he joined the party, he plastered a polite smile on his face. _'Only five hours and then its over until Easter,' _ he thought. He eyed the flowery decorations with boredom and hid his distain of the girls' dresses. _'Why must they insist on dressing up like a walking flower bouquet? Honestly.'_

"Oh Mycroft! There's a lovely young lady here who I'm sure would be delighted to make your acquaintance," his mother chirped as joined her. _'And it has begun,' _he thought to himself. He smiled politely at the nervous-looking girl and took her arm. He led her through a short dance and then excused himself to go find Sherlock. But Mummy caught him and thrust him toward another girl. Three dances later, he finally managed to duck away and find Sherlock under the buffet table, one shoe poking out the side of the tablecloth. He crouched behind the table and whispered,

"Sherlock, come out from there. Its a party, you have to participate." His brother poked his face out and sneered at him.

"Why so annoying, Fatcroft? Finished off all the hors d'oeuvres already?" He shifted back under and crawled away, leaving Mycroft pale-faced and trying to hide his hurt. _'I haven't even eaten any yet…' _He rose from behind the table and tried to find a far-off corner where he could hide out until the party ended. Unfortunately his mother appeared from out of nowhere with a young girl and a beautiful woman. The girl had on a light blue dress which reached to her ankles and the straps sparked in the light of the chandelier. Her jet black hair fell in graceful waves down her back, pulled back from her face by a simple blue headband that had probably cost more than his dress shoes. She, unlike the others, didn't look nervous at all, and smiled at him, her jade eyes twinkling with mirth. She was by far the prettiest girl he had danced with, but he could still only muster a sort of pained smile as he took her arm. He led her to the dance floor as far away from Mummy as possible, but it seemed she was already deep in conversation with the girl's mother.

"Ah its you again, He-Who-Will-Not-Give-Me-His-Name," said the girl. "Although according to my mother you're "That charming boy, Mycroft". I hope you don't mind that I'm going to shorten that to just Mycroft." His mouth fell open for a brief moment. Now that he really looked, he saw that it actually was the same girl that had been in the tree earlier that week. She saw his face and laughed. "I know right? Three hours of hair styling, a decent dress and shoes, and the right atmosphere works miracles."

"Only three hours? I thought it would have taken longer to bury all your hair beneath that wig." She blanched and he raised an eyebrow in concern. But before she could respond, they had to change partners. He spun a decidedly ordinary-looking individual before catching Stella in his arms again. The song changed to a fast paced, violin piece and he saw Sherlock playing. It was tricky to dance to, but he guided them expertly across the floor. He smirked as he saw the boring girl get her feet trotted on by an inept partner. Stella took the lead and spun them briskly so she could peer over his shoulder at the same girl. She winced in sympathy as the boy crushed her feet again and was grateful that Mycroft could easily keep up with the smooth but speedy song. It slowed down at the end and they panted. He muttered breathlessly,

"Figures Sherlock would compose a piece so difficult to dance to." The song changed to another, much slower, almost mournful piece. "Ah, much better. Thank goodness for George Michael." He pulled her slightly closer and she found it easier to catch her breath as they rocked slowly in a circle. She rather liked this dance, with his hand placed tenderly at her waist and their fingers intertwined.

"This is a guy singing?" she exclaimed in his ear. He chuckled and nodded.

"This is one of his most famous pieces."

"I like the saxophone." He snorted and she raised her eyebrow in surprise. He shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"So do a lot of people. My mother especially. Because of her, I know this song better than I do most languages."

"You're bilingual?" He shrugged.

"I am fluent in English, Latin, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Swahili, and I am currently attempting Mandarin." She gaped at him in silence for a few moments. He had the traces of a smug smile on his face while he was speaking, but he carefully concealed it as time passed and she continued saying nothing. Finally she said,

"You have quite a lot of free time on your hands, don't you?" He nodded, still hiding behind a polite mask. "Why Swahili, of all languages?"

"Excluding Russian, which I learned as a young child, they all have Latin roots and frequent loan words. Wasn't too difficult to learn them after I learned Latin. Swahili however was an interesting challenge, although I fear my accent is still not up to par. Mandarin has an entirely different word structure, as do all Asian languages. It is proving to quite an undertaking, however I should be fluent enough to start Cantonese by the end of the month." He blinked, but her face still retained a gobsmacked look. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away from her. She seemed to snap out of it and grinned at him.

"That's incredible! Say something cool!" she said excitedly. He allowed himself a small small at the praise and fished for something to say.

"Je suis désolé si je vous ai offensé plus tôt," he said softly. She grinned.

"That's French. What'd you say?"

"I'm sorry if I offended you earlier." She blinked.

"Its quite alright. But you were wrong." He twirled her in time to the music, then pulled her close again to whisper,

"Mimi ilikuwa na makosa? Kuhusu nini, kuthubutu mimi kuuliza?"

"Swahili, I bet. Never heard anything like that before."

"I was wrong? About what, dare I ask?"

"This isn't a wig. Though I'm surprised I can still hold my head up."

"Oh. Es tut mir leid. Was es zu beschweren?"

"German. That one was obvious, although it sounds strange coming out of your mouth."

"Correct again. Also, I'm terribly sorry. What's weighing it down?"

"A thousand pounds of hair product. Its quite exhausting."

"Speaking of exhausting, how are you holding up?" he asked gently. He was rather tired, but if she was too, then he had an excuse for sitting down.

"Alright, as long as you keep holding me up," she said with a wink. She waited for a laugh that was clearly not coming. "That was a joke, Mycroft."

"Oh." She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I am kind of tired though. Do you want to sit together? I haven't eaten yet." She smiled at him hopefully, and he nodded in reply. He led her over to the food and surveyed the wide range of items. She was grinning and leaned to whisper in his ear. "I'd look like a right fool taking bit of everything. So how about this? You start at the right end and I start at the left, we both take one of each and meet in the middle. Then we share." He smiled softly and nodded, and they both took their places. They met more to her side than his, not quite in the middle, but they grinned at each other. She saw an open table and ran over to it to claim it. She sat down gracefully and then watched Mycroft come over. _'He looks quite dashing in that tux,' _ she thought while blushing. She looked him over and smiled. His hair was soft looking and fiery colored, his hands, which had guided her easily on the dance floor, were pale and long-fingered. His lips were thin and pale pink, and his eyes were like molten chocolate. He had a rather long nose and was soft around the middle, but she couldn't imagine him any other way. She smiled as he sat across from her and pushed the plate forward. She reached and eyed the meaty-looking bun skewered on the end of her fork. Mycroft paused in his examination of the plate and said,

"Miniature beef wellington. Its excellent." She popped it into her mouth and grinned. After she swallowed, she asked,

"How'd you know?" He averted his eyes shyly.

"I may have…investigated the kitchens earlier." It seemed his fork had suddenly become the most fascinating thing on the planet. She giggled.

"Of course. One has to be sure the kitchen staff don't try to poison anything." Suddenly, he laughed.

"Not them, but Sherlock certainly might, if he were bored." He'd finally selected some food and was about to bite into it when he yelped, jerking away from the table and landing rather hard on his back. Stella felt something brush against her dress under the table and she peered under as Mycroft got up. A pair of blue eyes under a shaggy mop of black hair greeted her eyes. The young boy crawled away and disappeared around a corner of tables. Mycroft sat back down with an embarrassed huff, determinately not looking anywhere near her as patches of tomato red spread across his face until even his ears were glowing. Stella could practically feel the heat coming off him.

"I'm going to take a wild leap here and assume that's Sherlock." Mycroft's head jerked sharply in agreement. "He seems, umm, quite pleasant to live with." She heard him repress a bitter snort, and she smiled slightly. She leaned forward slightly and stabbed his untouched food. He proffered it to him and he looked at it in confusion. "Open your mouth silly." He did so hesitantly, but at least now he was looking at her. She pressed the food to his mouth and he bit into it delicately. She ate the rest and grinned cheekily. "Good choice sir." He smiled slightly as he chewed and his face seemed to be returning to normal human color.

As the evening progressed, they nibbled their way through the food, occasionally feeding each other and laughing at the guests. Mycroft was pleased to learn that she too thought most of the girls looked like walking flower arrangements. But all too soon, Stella's mother came over.

"Hello you two. Having fun?" Stella said yes enthusiastically while Mycroft nodded politely. "Well unfortunately its time to go home."

"But mum I'm having so much fun. Can't we stay a little longer?" Stella pleaded. Her mother shook her head, but smiled.

"We had a deal. I'd let you come if you left when I said to. Now I'm saying to. I'll meet you at the front door in five minutes and no later." She strode off, leaving a saddened Stella behind. Mycroft stood and offered his arm.

"May I have the honor of walking you out, young lady?" he said pompously, but hiding a smirk. She giggled and took his arm.

"Of course, sir. I am truly the honored one." They walked across the hall and he helped her with her coat. They saw her mother waiting and she turned to him. Without warning, she hugged him tightly and said in his ear, "The party was fun. I'm glad your mother forced you to dance with me. Maybe I'll see you around?" She pulled back and smiled hopefully. He nodded silently. She walked away and had almost reached her mother when he ran up to her. She turned as he bit his lip, then burst out,

"Would you like to come over for tea tomorrow?" He was bright pink now.

"I was hoping you'd ask," she said with a smile. "Of course I want to. But I'm not wearing the dress!" She walked away with a cheeky smile and a wave. Mycroft stood in the foyer for a while after they left, smiling sheepishly at the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally another chapter. Stella's come to hang out. Let's hope it goes better than the tuxedo fitting. Please review! :)**

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"Mycroft, I'll be heading out for the weekend. Mind your brother!" The door shut behind Lady Holmes as she drifted out the door. Sherlock grinned across the foyer at Mycroft, who had slumped over the railing. _'Thank goodness. At least now she won't embarrass me in front of Stella,' _ he thought with relief.

"Mycroft, I'll be in my room, so leave me alone," yelled Sherlock. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a door slamming shut. Then he smiled. _'Can this get any better?' _He hummed quietly as he went to tidy up his room. As he shifted a book for the fifth time, he realized he was just stalling. He changed from his pullover into a button-up and then went downstairs to wait. Mere minutes after he sat down, the doorbell rang. He flew to answer the door and gulped nervously. He peeked through the peephole but saw only darkness. Then he saw Stella pull away from the peephole and wave happily. He pulled the door open and she darted inside. Unlike him, she had gone a more casual route with a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. He noted that her hair was back to its natural wildness.

"Hey there," she said, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Hello." They stared at each other awkwardly in silence.

"You've never done this before, have you?" she finally asked. He blushed and shook his head. She grabbed his arm and started walking up the stairs. "Well, then I'll just lead, shall I? Now we're going to walk around and talk about boring stuff like furniture while you brag about fancy paintings and show me every room. Actually since we're ignoring the rule book, let's skip the boring talk. But still, show me around." She grinned at him and he smiled back sheepishly.

"Alright then, this is the main hallway. Lots of boring stuff happened here."

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Eventually they made it out to the pool and sat down around one of the little tables to have some tea. By then, Mycroft had unbuttoned the top button and pulled up his sleeves. Stella's hair seemed to have expanded in volume since she'd arrived and she was fiddling with it when the cook came over.

"Here you go little ones," said the cook cheerfully. "This is Mycroft's favorite. Always gobbles up my fruitcake right quick. Such a good boy." She set the tray down between them and strode off happily, not catching the glare Mycroft sent her. Stella watched as his face turned deep red and she plucked a slice from the platter.

"Mmmmm this is amazing!" she exclaimed around a mouthful of fruit. "Your cook is way better than mine. Well, I think. Mum usually pokes her nose in when she knows Cookie's baking and she tries to learn and then they usually turn out pretty similar to cricket bats, in terms of texture." Mycroft laughed quietly, but didn't take any as her fingers stretched eagerly for a second slice.

"Your mother goes in the kitchen?" he asked. "I'm not sure mine knows where ours is." Stella gaped.

"Really? I thought all mothers cook. Grandmum cooks too, and she's ancient. But she's better at sweets than mum. But mum makes this amazing shepherd's pie. I think she mixes meats cause I've had it at restaurants but theirs tastes funny. Do you like shepherd's pie? Oh, and Cookie is what I call our cook cause her name is Bethina but I couldn't say that when I was little, so I just called her Cookie and it stuck." Stella smiled and took another bite of the fruitcake. Mycroft had his eyebrows raised and he chuckled.

"I wasn't aware that humans could go so long without oxygen. Yet somehow you seem to manage, much to the detriment of my ears. And yes, I rather enjoy shepherd's pie." Stella flicked a fruit at his face, and it hit him square on the cheek.

"Might I inquire why my face how has the remotes of fruitcake on it?" he asked calmly and wiped his cheek with his napkin.

"You like that I talk a lot or you would have yelled at me to shut up, like father does, so don't lie. Also, do you always talk so posh?" She aimed another piece and awaited his reply. Mycroft reached for the kettle and poured himself an ample serving of tea, then stirred in a drop of milk before replying.

"You're not boring at least. And I have no idea what you're talking about. I speak perfectly adequately."

"'I speak perfectly adequately', who says that? You talk posh." She reached for a third slice and took a small bite. "If you don't take a piece, I'm going to end up eating the whole thing and feel bad." She nudged the plate at him and saw that he'd gone rather pale and busied himself with straightening his napkin. _'Was it something I said?' _she thought. _'Goodness he looks like someone slapped him.'_ She shifted forward in her chair. "Are you alright? You look dreadful all of a sudden." He looked up sharply and she saw, for a brief second, some emotion shining in his eyes. Then he blinked and a calmness washed over his face, obliterating any evidence of his previous mood.

"Of course I am. That fruitcake must be addling your mind," he replied. _'Yeah, cause fruitcake is totally capable of that,'_ she thought. _'You're hiding something. And you still haven't eaten any fruitcake. You don't look like the skipping meals type, so why are you avoiding it?'_ She shifted her chair over until it was right next to his and before he could ask what she was doing, she hugged him tightly. He gasped and stiffened. "What in the world are you doing that for?"

She replied with a smile, "Must be the fruitcake." She hugged tighter and felt him relax in her arms. His head tilted to rest fleetingly on top of hers, before he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled away. She let him and they both went back to their tea cups, drinking quietly. Stella smiled into her cup when she saw him reach for the last piece of fruitcake. They both munched happily in comfortable silence until Sherlock ran past them, his curls windswept. Stella laughed.

"He's like a tornado. I don't think I've ever seen him stand still."

"I'm not sure I've ever had the pleasure either," replied Mycroft.

"How old is he anyway? Nine?"

"Six, actually." Stella choked on her tea.

"Pardon?" Mycroft smirked and very slowly replied,

"The number that comes after five and before seven." He enunciated every syllable clearly. Stella stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. "He's tall for his age and reads extensively."

"Were you like that too? Or were you always so…" she trailed off, trying to think of a word that wouldn't be offensive, but still get her point across. Mycroft happily supplied a few.

"Obnoxious? Cold? Robotic? Posh?" he said the last with a higher pitch, in imitation of her girlish voice. She frowned in response.

"Actually I was going to say 'restrained' or 'reserved'. You aren't obnoxious, you're funny. And you don't seem like a robot, too cuddly. Posh though definitely." He raised one ginger eyebrow as she spoke.

"Cuddly? I fail to see where that assumption could have come from. Perhaps there is in fact something in the fruitcake." He looked at his empty plate with a exaggerated horrified expression.

"No, you were cuddly when I hugged you. Most people are." He rolled his eyes and she giggled. "But you never answered my question."

"No, luckily for everyone involve in raising us, Sherlock is the only energetic one." She had to strain to hear his next words. "I prefer reading to running around like a monkey."

"I like reading too. Science fiction is the best, obviously. Although I'd peg you as more of a nonfiction kind of guy." He nodded.

"I've read almost every biography in our library."

"Oh could I see it? Although it would only be fair to warn you, I may swoon. But you're all proper, so I'm sure you'd catch me." He chuckled and rose to his feet. Stella followed and they chatted about the weather and types of plants that grew on the property until they reached a set of mahogany doors. Mycroft gave an exaggerated bow and opened the doors.

"After you, my lady." She gasped and practically flew inside, running quickly between the shelves, occasionally stopping to run a delicate finger down a spine or two. He shut the doors carefully and strode to his preferred reading spot, The Prince still waiting where he left it.

Stella perused her favorite section before finding a book she had not yet read. After some searching, she found Mycroft curled up on a plush armchair, reading from a thick book. She took a moment to study him. His curly bangs had fallen forward over his face, which had a look of pure contentedness. His legs were curled under him, and he propped his hand up on his elbow. His grey eyes flew across the page, thin lips set in concentration. And he finally looked relaxed. She crept up next to him and slid onto the nearby sofa. The rest of the afternoon flew by as they read together in companionable silence.


End file.
